One of my stand-in goals is to thank my English teachers. I think that I had extraordinary luck with the teachers I ended up with throughout middle school, high school, college and graduate school. For a girl who used to hole up in her room writing short stories and the humble beginnings of "books" from the age of 6, I was lucky to have ended up with so many nurturing, creative, and talented educators to teach me, encourage me and help me on my way.
Here are three of nine things I've learned about writing, by way of those educators. These are things I know to be true about writing, but, as I've been realizing lately, they are also true of life.
1. Be authentic: You have your place. I hated middle school. My body had developed earlier than other girls and my mouth moved faster than my brain--not a great combination. The girls in the class above me (and some in my class) did not like my naive and immature confidence. This, paired with a body that I did not yet understand, gained me attention I wasn't sure I wanted (but wasn't sure I didn't want, either), leading to a lot of angst and many tears.
Mrs. Zueger was my 7th grade English teacher. Quirky and charming all at once, Mrs. Zueger had full command of her class. But she was more than a teacher. Her room was a safe haven I could run to when being "bullied", and she always knew when to shelter me, when to stand up for me, and when to challenge me. She knew how praise me in the exact way my 13-year-old self needed to be praised, while helping me mature and grow.
I say this half-sarcastically and half-earnestly: I think the trauma of middle school led me to block a lot of memories. While I have a few memories of particularly terrifying confrontations with these girls, most of this I recall in a general sense. Conversations with my mom (who was equally scarred by this period of my life) fill in the blanks. Because of this I know that in more ways than one, I wouldn't be the person that I am without having Mrs. Zueger as a teacher. I truly believe that some of my spirit would have been lost by this devastating period if not for her guidance.
My mom reached out to Mrs. Zueger, exasperated from parenting a teen who was wise beyond her years in some sense yet stubborn, sassy and emotional (who, me?). Mrs. Zueger acted as an intermediary between my mom and I, assuring that I was staying on the right track, and giving me extra writing "assignments", which I think acted as a type of therapy for me--as it still does. She was the second person, the first being my mom, to realize what power writing gave me. It corralled my thoughts, expressing what I couldn't say out loud. I don't remember much of this very clearly, but I do know the lessons I learned from it: stand up straight, know when to question yourself, learn when to shut up, know when to follow your gut, and be as kind and calm as possible in the face of adversity. And I'm a better writer for it.
--Mrs. Zueger also taught me how to work with other personalities, when she paired me up for a group project with the quietest girl in class (no doubt because I was the loudest girl in class). We had to make up a story based on two characters (mine, a cheerleader, and hers, a robot). We surprised ourselves when we were able to write a funny story about a cheerleader and her robot!
2. Be compelling: But find your own way. In Mr. Hammerstrom's sophomore speech class, we were taught five or six 'acceptable' ways to start a speech. You know - like, posing a question, citing a shocking statistic, or quoting a famous person. But I always remember Dave Perlove's approach. He got up to make a speech about something normal, probably a persuasive piece on laundry or an instructional speech on something obscure like grilled cheese. (Hammerstrom was always good for the really, really weird assignments. That's why we learned so much.)
Dave staggered up the front of the room and, with his classic shit-eating grin, yelled, "SSSSEEEEEEEEXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!!" The class burst into laughter, Mr. Hammerstrom blushed, and Dave nearly peed his pants, but he got us with that opener. We were at his full command; he no doubt had the full attention of a class full of hormone-charged high school students. I learned two things that day: You indeed need a good opener, and you aren't always going to be able to find it on a list of acceptable ways to start a speech.
In my career so far, I have been most successful when I follow my instincts and inject a little bit of personality into a project rather than choosing from a list of suggested templates. Hammerstrom taught me that people like something they can relate to--and you're probably not going to find that in a template.
--Mr. Hammerstrom also taught me that what doesn't kill you, in fact makes you stronger. I had my first anxiety attack during the ten minutes before my sophomore speech. But I survived and I am proud to tell you that I did not commit the forbidden travesty of starting my speech with "Okay..." To this day, I've presented at countless meetings and two conferences, sans attack.
3. Stand by your work. This lesson came during senior year in College Prep Writing in Mr. Cook's class. The assignment was to write about something that was a hard lesson to learn, and to use song lyrics to help illustrate that lesson. These were to be peer-critiqued, and I chose “Just to See You Smile” by Tim McGraw and wrote about how my grandpa and my high school boyfriend were the most selfless and loving people I know. Part of the piece was about how I didn’t feel I always deserved it. The student who critiqued it wrote, “No, you don’t deserve it. You’re a spoiled bitch.” I was beyond hurt.
Here I was, offering up my truth, a confession that was hard to put to paper and someone had read it, and then crushed me. I found out later that it was someone who had tried to hurt me in other ways, and realized with time that it was rooted in jealousy and immaturity, and--most importantly--it was a cheap stab cowardly masked by anonymity.
But at the time I took it very hard. Mr. Cook wrote alongside the culprit’s boyish print, “Bobbi, you seem to have had unfortunate luck with the reader of your piece. I, on the other hand, enjoyed it immensely. A.” This taught me that no matter what your reader thinks of what you write, you have the final say because it’s a piece of your heart. And someone out there, someone smarter and more refined, is going to appreciate it. (This is also, coincidentally, a portion of my thoughts on love, but that’s a whole other blog post.)
--Mr. Cook also taught me that writers need to read, read, read and soak up everything they can.
Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3... six more nuggets of knowledge from my past English teachers.
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